


My Way To You

by scarsandammunition



Series: Sapphic Sansa-Fest 2020 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Lesbian Margaery Tyrell, Lesbian Sansa Stark, POV Sansa Stark, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarsandammunition/pseuds/scarsandammunition
Summary: On a persons’ ten-and-third nameday, they receive a mark on their wrist, indicative of their soulmates’ house symbol. Sansa had always presumed – dreamed – that she’d have a stag on her wrist, allowing her to be worthy for her love, Joffrey, and become his queen.So imagine her surprise when she receives a rose instead.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Val, Lyanna Mormont/Rickon Stark, Meera Reed/Bran Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Podrick Payne/Jeyne Poole, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Robb Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Series: Sapphic Sansa-Fest 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015320
Comments: 14
Kudos: 138





	My Way To You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sapphic Sansa-Fest 2020, prompt: soulmates.

It was known throughout Westeros and beyond that when a person turns ten-and-three, they receive a mark on their wrist, showing the symbol of the family that their soulmate belongs to. Soulmates were believed to be deemed by the Gods, a pairing created because of a connection and compatibility that transcended physical boundaries.

Sansa had always loved these tales, utterly enchanted on how romantic it was that two souls, not people, always managed to find each other. How the prince would have to go on some grand quest to find his beloved, or how the knight would have to overcome some grand obstacle in order to prove himself to the one he cherished most.

Each religion had its own explanation for why this occurred. Her father would explain the Old Gods to her while he cleaned Ice at the godswood. “The Old Gods bring back the same souls in different bodies, and the find each other again and again and again,” he would say as he brushed dirt and dust off his greatsword. “They’re bonded for eternity.”

“But what if you don’t like your soulmate?” Sansa would ask. “You’d have to spend forever with a person you hate.” Gods forbid her soulmate was some she didn’t like.

Her father would just shake her head and smile softly. “You love them. You always love them.” He spoke with a faraway look in his eyes as if remembering a person long gone. It wasn’t until years later that Sansa finally realised what he would mean.

Being of the Seven, her mother had a different view on things. She would explain after Sansa asked her yet again to tell her when she read her stories before she slept. “The Seven say that when you’re born, you get a connection with another soul. It doesn’t matter where they are, if they’re even born yet, the connection is made.” Her mother would smile and brush some red strands out of her face. “And you’ll find each other. No matter what.”

“Is that what happened with you and father?” she would ask.

Her mother would always give a sad smile and cup her daughter's cheek. “Yes dear,” she would always respond. It would take Sansa years to realise she was lying.

Sansa adored those tales, the depictions of the all-encompassing love that she was so captivated by, the descriptions of the adoration that she and her future soulmate would feel towards each other never failing to fill her with wonder.

Her and Jeyne would always gossip and speculate about who their soulmates would be, exactly who they hoped they would spend their lives with.

“I hope he’s handsome,” Jeyne would say as they talked in Sansa’s bedchambers, braiding their hair and pretending to be proper ladies. “And brave; tall and mighty. Someone who can look after me. Make me feel special and loved.” Sansa finished the final twist on Jeyne’s braid, a technique they had learned from one of the traders that had come from the south. The brunette looked at her hair through her vanity, shaking her head experimentally. She thanked Sansa and swapped positions so that Sansa was sitting on the bed and Jeyne was kneeling behind her. “What about you?”

Sansa had thought long and hard about what qualities she wanted her soulmate to have. Someone handsome and muscular. Someone strong and brave and gentle. Someone who she could wholly love and would wholly love her back.

In the end, her mind only went to one person.

“Joffrey. I want it to be Joffrey.”

“The Baratheon prince?” Jeyne asked. “He _is_ really handsome.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Sansa said dreamily. “And kind and noble. Plus, our fathers are good friends; it would be a good arrangement between our families.” Ned Stark had told them tales of how he and Robert Baratheon had bonded during his youth in the Vale, how they had fought together during the rebellion. “It’s a perfect match, don’t you think?”

“It is,” Jeyne sighed, as Sansa felt her fingers slowed their movements in her hair. They sat in silence for a while as Jeyne tried to copy the style Sansa had fashioned her hair in. Sansa looked at Jeyne’s face through her vanity and noticed her best friend had lost the smile that almost always adorned her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, turning her head to face the other girl.

“It’s just…” Jeyne sighed in frustration, sat back down against the furs. “You’ll get to go to the capital and marry Joffrey and become queen and live a perfect life. And I’m happy you get that.” She nervously ran a hand through her hair, the same way she did whenever one of the southern knights would talk to her. “I guess I’m just jealous that I’ll have to stay here and live a normal one.”

Sansa hated how sad her friend sounded, couldn’t stand the despondent look on her face. She reached for her hand, smiling as Jeyne looked up at her face.

“You won’t. You’ll come with me and I’ll make you one of my ladies-in-waiting. And once I’m queen, I’ll get every man in the land and we’ll make sure that we find your soulmate. And then when I have children, you can have children at the same time and they’ll grow up to be best friends just like us.” Sansa’s voice sped up, her excitement growing with every passing word. “I won’t leave you behind, Jeyne,” lacing their fingers together to emphasise her point.

Jeyne beamed at her, tears in her eyes, and hugged the redhead close. Sansa returned her embrace, her head close to Jeyne’s ear. “Come now, I’m certain the cooks have just finished a batch of lemon cakes…”

**\--------------------**

Both girls had waited for their ten-and-third nameday for what seemed like years. Months of talk and speculation leading up to one singular moment. Sansa had struggled to fall asleep the night before, so eager to find out who her soulmate would be.

“It’ll come faster if you sleep dear,” her mother said as she styled her hair into a night braid. “It’s not going to come any faster if you just keep staring at it.”

“But I don’t want to wait!” Sansa practically whined. She was fully aware that she sounded far younger than her age but she could not find it in her to care. Surely, any person would be the same if they were on the cusp of finding their soulmate?

“I love you, dear daughter.” She flattened out some red strands before continuing. “I think that maybe you should prepare yourself for if it isn’t who you want it to be.”

“But it will be Joffrey mother! I’m going to become his queen and we’re going to live a happy life and have lots of children; isn’t that what you want?” Sansa knew that appealing to her mothers’ Tully side would help her see things her way.

Her mother pressed a kiss onto the crown of her head. “All I want is for my children to be happy. No matter what that entails. But I do think you should think about what would happen if it isn’t him.”

“It’ll be like you and father. You’ll see.”

Catelyn sighed and looked at Sansa through the vanity. “Me and your father… we weren’t instantly and magically in love. We worked and built at it over the years. Through good times and bad times.” Sansa instantly knew what bad times she was referring to; her mother’s disdain of Jon was no secret to anyone in Winterfell.

“But you said you and father are soulmates; that you knew that you were perfect for each other from the moment you met,” Sansa said. She noticed how very sad her mother looked at that moment.

“I know you love your stories and I don’t want to take that away from you,” she went on, “you should just know that sometimes life is a little bit more complicated than your tales.” She finished putting the final twist in the braid. “And no matter what happens, your father and I will still love you regardless.”

Sansa had the light pressure against her shoulders as her mother rested her hands on them. “Now get some sleep. We will deal with whatever happens in the morning.”

Sansa tossed and turned in her furs, her mother’s words running through her mind. Joffrey had to be her soulmate, she was _certain_ of it. Who else could it be? Who else could be better than him?

She tried to picture her life with someone else; living as a lady in some other castle, married to some other lord. No fairy-tale life, no beautiful children running about, no Jeyne to spend her days with. The more she imagined it, the more unappealing to became to her. It _had_ to be Joffrey.

When she awoke, she practically ripped the sleeve of her nightdress open, giddy and desperate to see what mark awaited her on her wrist. But instead of seeing the stag that she had dreamed of, she found a rose awaiting her instead.

 _No_.

 _No_.

 _No_.

 _It can’t be_.

There had to be some sort of mistake; she was meant to be with Joffrey, she was sure of it. She didn’t even care who was on the other end of her soulmark, she wouldn’t want to be with them if they were not Joffrey.

She cried, tasting salty tears that ran down her face. She licked her finger and hysterically rubbed at the rose on her wrist, desperate to try anything to remove that tied her to her soulmate, tears falling down her face all the while.

Surely, there had to be some way she could remove it? Or hide it even? What if Joffrey had her as a soulmate but she wasn’t his? He would hate her, and Sansa couldn’t – wouldn’t – be able to stand that. Surely the queen would not be impressed? Her son deserved only the best and she clearly was worthy enough for him.

It was only a knock at the door that brought her out of her stupor. She climbed out of her furs and opened it, to find the smiling face of her best friend waiting for her.

“Happy nameday,” she began, regarding her with sad eyes, trailing off once she noticed the redhead’s tears.

“Happy nameday,” she returned, barely finishing the end of her statement before bursting back into tears. She felt Jeyne wrap her arms around her body, moving her back into her room and shutting the door.

She continued to weep into Jeyne’s shoulder, her fingers stroking through her own hair. Once she had calmed down enough, Jeyne gently asked the question that she had been struggling with all morning.

“It wasn’t Joffrey, was it?” The way she asked and the way Sansa had reacted, they both knew what the answer would be.

Sansa simply shook her head into Jeyne’s shoulder, clinging to her harder.

“Okay, well… that’s not the worst thing,” Jeyne started, “do you know who it is?”

Sansa shook her head again. She brought her wrist up for Jeyne to inspect. Delicate fingers pressed over her wrist as Jeyne regarded her mark.

“It’s a Tyrell,” she said. “Your soulmate’s a Tyrell.”

“I don’t want a Tyrell,” Sansa replied tearfully. “I want Joffrey.”

Jeyne regarded her with sad eyes again and wrapped her arms around Sansa. “I’m so sorry, Sansa. I don’t know what to say to make this better. But I’m here if you wanna talk or cry.”

“Thank you, Jeyne,” Sansa began before her voice got caught. She was more than lucky to have her best friend. “Can w- can we keep this between us for the moment?”

Jeyne smiled at her. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Sansa sighed, wiping the wetness away from her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask who your soulmate was.”

“It’s okay.” Jeyne simply smiled at her and brought her wrist up so Sansa could inspect the soulmark. It was dotted with squares in the background, like a cyvasse board.

“I don’t even know what house it belongs to,” Jeyne shrugged. Sansa was at a loss too; for all their lessons with master Luwin, she could not identify who her best friends’ soulmate was.

“I’m afraid I don’t know either.”

“Then I guess we shan't know who our soulmates are together.” Jeyne smiled at her and after a while, she found herself smiling back; she did always have a way of cheering up Sansa whenever she was down.

“Now come on and get dressed; I’m certain a spread would’ve been put out to celebrate our namedays…”

**\--------------------**

Sansa was barely adjusting to not having her soulmate being Joffrey. She had spent so much of her life hoping, wishing, _praying_ it would be him. And it turned out to not be. She felt as if the ground had been ripped from under her feet.

The adjustment period was… challenging to say the least. Every boy she saw with blonde hair – Joffrey. The men training in the courtyard – Joffrey. The cooks that lay out their supper – Joffrey. Sansa saw him everywhere and in everyone.

She could still spare no thought to whoever was on the other end of her soulmark. Whoever had ripped her away from her Joffrey.

The knowledge of her soulmate was still kept strictly between her and Jeyne. Although people definitely suspected she hadn’t gotten who she wanted. Her mother and father always spoke to her in soft voices with kind smiles. Robb and Jon always asked if she was okay. Bran and Rickon always asked if she wanted to play. Even Arya had toned down her actions, even if she didn’t care for the reasoning.

Sansa just wanted it to change. To have her soulmark change and to get a stag instead of the rose. Then she could have the life she dreamed of. But part of her knew that it would never change. That she’d be stuck with her soulmark – she could only hope that he would be kind and brave and gallant.

“You should tell someone about it,” Jeyne said to her one day whilst they lay in her chambers. “It might make you feel better.”

“But who?” Sansa responded. “Father and mother wouldn’t understand, and everyone else is too young to get their marks. It’s only Robb and Jon that would have them.”

“Do you know their soulmates?” Jeyne asked.

“No.” Sansa never really spoke to her brothers about their soulmarks or girls in general for that matter; they usually kept those matters between themselves and Theon. Septa Mordane was certain Jon didn’t have a mark – a result of his bastardry – but even she doubted that; everyone _had to_ have a soulmark.

“Then ask them? Perhaps they’ve been in the same situation as you.”

Sansa doubted it but she would try anyway. Although, that was a task easier said than done; if they were not busy doing a task for their father, they were busy training with Ser Rodrik. And as much as she enjoyed watching knights at tourney’s, there was only so much she could watch in an afternoon.

After some gentle encouragement from Jeyne, she approached the boys as they took a break from sparring.

“Sansa,” Robb smiled. “Nice to see you.”

“Can I talk to you? Both of you?” she asked. Jon seemed surprised that she wanted to talk to him as well but move closer to her all the same. They both looked at her expectantly.

“What do you do if…” her voice trailed off and got quiet. She cleared her throat and regained her confidence. “If your soulmate is not who you expect? Or want it to be?”

Robb shrugged. “Just don’t worry about it.”

“But… but how?” Sansa stammered out.

Robb nodded towards Jon; her half-brother rolled up his under-armour to show a mark that Sansa couldn’t identify even if she tried.

“Recognise this?” Jon asked.

Sansa shook her head; even with all her lessons with Maester Luwin, she didn’t know what house that mark belonged too.

“Neither did we. Nor father. Nor any of the books we looked in,” Robb added. He took off his gauntlets and rolled up his sleeve to show a three-headed dragon.

“A Targaryen,” Sansa said, amazed that her brother possessed such a mark. “I thought they were all dead?”

“They are,” Robb said. “Nothing I can do about it. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to get married and have children one day. Just means that it won’t be with my soulmate.”

“And it’s the same for you,” Jon added. “You can still get married and be happy without your soulmate. Only if you let yourself.”

They did have a point. Sansa was spending so much time stressing about her soulmate and about how it wasn’t Joffrey that she could be robbing herself of the chance to _actually_ be with him. She could still have the life she wanted after all.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile. She turned to walk away before Robb called back out to her.

“Sansa, go find mother. She wanted to talk to you about some things before the king arrives tomorrow…”

**\--------------------**

How quickly could things go wrong?

It had all been going perfectly – she and Joffrey were getting along wonderfully, she and Jeyne were enjoying the south, her father seemed to be doing well at his new role as hand of the king. It was all an idyllic life.

But then it started to go downhill. Lady had been killed for something she did not do. Jeyne had been taken away from her. The king had died and her father had been imprisoned on false charges, leaving her and Arya alone in a big, strange city.

Everyone back in Winterfell was furious. They had threatened to march down to the capital and reclaim her father, along with her and Arya, if he was not cleared of his charges and set free.

Joffrey… well Joffrey had been changing. He had been showing her less and less kindness, changing from the wonderful prince she knew him to be. He was prone to outbursts of anger and rash judgement calls, qualities the future king should not be demonstrating. These weren’t even exclusive to her – Cersei, Myrcella and Tommen all seemed to be victims of Joffrey’s wrath.

She just wanted things to go back to the way things were. When Joffrey was kind and she had her family and best friend back. She knew that she couldn’t sit around and just wait for it to happen so she tried her hardest to make it so. Had begged her father's innocence in front of the entire court. Had tried to calm Joffrey when he had one of his outbursts. Had confided in Cersei and Lord Baelish about her fears on the future and what the North planned to do.

“It’s okay, little dove,” Cersei reassured her. “We will make this right.”

“But how?” The whole situation seemed hopeless to Sansa at this point.

“A letter,” Cersei said as she stroked through red strands. “We can write a letter to your family, saying that everything is fine and it’s all going to be sorted out. Then I’ll get your father out of prison and we can go back to how things should be.” She smiled at Sansa, the same way she smiled at Joffrey. “Would you like that, little dove?”

Sansa nodded. It sounded very wonderful, getting the life that she should have back finally. Cersei gave her the paper and she began to write the letter that she would send to Winterfell.

She could do this. For her father. For her family.

For her Joffrey.

**\--------------------**

Life in King’s Landing was a misery. A nightmare that never seemed to end.

It wasn’t too long ago that Sansa would’ve jumped at the opportunity to marry Joffrey, loved to be his queen and birth their little princes and princesses. Now she’d rather join her father on a spike.

His cruelty never seemed to end, know no bounds, have no limit to whatever he planned to torture her with this time. If he didn’t take her out, forcing her to look upon her deceased father, then he brought her to court with all to see, ripped upon her dress and have his kingsguard beat her black and blue. Whether it was Meryn Trant and his backhand, or the Hound with his cruel words, she was constantly abused at Joffrey’s word.

Every person who she thought could help her had betrayed her. Joffrey – ordered her to be beaten and killed her father. Cersei – let Lady die for something she did not do and helped tear her family apart. Lord Baelish – joined forces with Cersei and stole Jeyne away. The Hound – abused her with vicious words and let her be beaten. The only kindness she could find was from the Imp. But a Lannister was still a Lannister, nevertheless. 

She could only hope Robb would hurry and save her from this horrid place.

Part of her wanted to die. Wanted to reach the top of the red keep and jump, remove herself from this nightmare. Part of her hoped that Stannis Baratheon would win the battle, slaughter Joffrey and Cersei and every person in this wretched city.

But he failed. Beaten back by the Lannister forces and the Tyrell’s that had aided them. And now she stood in the throne room, waiting to see how Joffrey would reward the Tyrells. And likely find a way to punish her as well.

It was conflicting seeing them there. On one hand, they had kept her here, ensuring the constant cycle of abuse she had endured would only continue. But her soulmate was in the crowd of knights and nobles that stood before the king. Perhaps her soulmate would find her and find a way to whisk her away. She dared to hope he would, although didn’t have much faith in the matter.

“Lord Tyrell, step forward,” Joffrey commanded. Sansa watched as Loras Tyrell and a woman stepped forward out of the crowd. She had seen Loras before at the tourney – he had given her a rose that she had been delighted with – but the woman was new. They looked very similar, with the same long brown hair and flowery garments.

“Your grace.” Loras bowed while the woman curtsied. “Might I say I’m most pleased that you managed to drive the usurper away from the city.”

Sansa could tell that it was all sweet words to woo Joffrey with, the kind the queen would use when he was being particularly difficult; were the Tyrell’s not allied with a Baratheon brother just a few moons ago?

“Your help was greatly appreciated, Lord Tyrell. The crown is in your debt. What can we offer to repay your assistance?”

That was what Joffrey was. All sweet words, hiding the monster underneath. 

“I present to you my sister – Margaery Tyrell.” Sansa could see the woman – Margaery – coyly smile at Joffrey, the same way some of the girls at Winterfell would smile at Robb. And it seemed to be working; Joffrey seemed to be taking a keen interest.

“We ask for an alliance – and what better way to combine the strengths of our two families than through a marriage?” Loras went on.

Joffrey had gotten off his throne and began inspecting Margaery the same way Lady or one of the other direwolves would inspect some food. Margaery didn’t seem phased by it, continuing to smile at Joffrey all the while. Margaery extended her hand and Joffrey placed a kiss on it, as she giggled the same way Sansa and Jeyne did many moons ago.

“Yes, I think that would be best. It would be a far better match than that Stark bitch anyway,” Joffrey said.

Sansa’s heart pounded in her chest. She really was free of Joffrey; she didn’t have to marry him or have his children. She was finally free of that torment. But she still remained a prisoner of the Lannister’s, trapped in King’s Landing. Far from her family. Far from home. Only a small comfort for the moment.

Sansa walked away, her first smile since her father died, allowing herself to believe that things would be okay for the first time in a long time.

**\--------------------**

She was surprised when Loras Tyrell knocked at her chambers soon after breaking her fast one morning.

“Good morning, my lady,” Loras greeted her. “My grandmother wishes to meet you for some tea and I’ve been sent to escort you.”

_The Queen of Thorns? What could she possibly want with me?_

“She’s busy,” came Shae’s voice behind her. “Lady Olenna will have to rearrange.” Her tone shot down any chance of Loras arguing back with her.

If he was offended at all, it didn’t show. “My grandmother was rather insistent on this matter. And she is not someone who you should keep waiting.”

Sansa looked back at her handmaiden. “It’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

Shae moved forward to Loras directly. “If she is not back before sunset, then I will personally hold you responsible.”

The Tyrell seemed bored by the conversation. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He extended his arm out for Sansa to take. Together, they walked away from her chambers and into the vast garden that dominated the back of the red keep.

Sansa did try to make conversation with him but he mostly shrugged her off, giving her one-worded answers and soft noises of agreement. She was grateful when they reached Margaery and the small party that resided in the gardens.

“Loras! Thank you for escorting Lady Sansa to us!” she greeted them. Loras bowed and then took his leave.

“Thank you for joining us, Sansa. I’m so glad you could make it,” she said sweetly, looping her arm through Sansa’s.

The moment their arms linked, Sansa felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her and a warm pit form in her stomach. If Margaery felt it too, then she recovered from it quickly, giving Sansa that same disarming smile that she always seemed to wear.

“Come.” She walked with her through their party until they reached a small gazebo with the eldest Tyrell waiting at it impatiently. “Introducing the Queen on Thorns, my grandmother, Olenna Tyrell.”

“Kiss me, child,” she said, expectantly holding out her hand; Sansa did as she was told.

“Come along now, best get on with it.” The trio walked into the gazebo and sat down at a small table, away from the rest of their entourage.

“Down to business then. This Joffrey fellow – what’s he like?”

Sansa had been caught off guard with that question; not what she was expecting to be called here for. “King Joffrey is very… he uh… he’s very…”

“For God’s sakes, out with it child!” Olenna barked. Margaery seemed to take pity on her and gave her a gentle smile.

“King Joffrey is a kind and benevolent leader. He showed me mercy when I did not deserve it. I… I… I…”

“You, you, you?” Olenna seemed almost amused by her stuttering. “I thought spending all this time in King’s Landing would’ve made you a better liar.” She was reminded of Lord Baelish and how he always saw through anything he told her.

“It’s just us here,” Margaery leant forward, talking softly. “Anything you say is just between us.”

Sansa shouldn’t have been as affected by Margaery’s words as she was. Normal kind words to anyone else – and yet, it was the most kindness she had been shown in months. She doubted it would stay just between them – even she knew the Tyrell’s were infamous for their plotting and scheming – but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. It’s not as if they could make her life any worse.

And besides, Margaery deserved to know who she was marrying.

“He had my wolf killed and because he couldn’t beat my sister or a butchers boy in a fight. He promised to show my father mercy and cut off his head, forcing me to look upon it whenever he fancied. He had me beaten time and time again because my brother beat his family in battle. He’s all sweet words but completely vile underneath.” Sansa had been talking herself into anger, talking faster and faster; she paused when she felt hot tears fall down her cheeks.

“He’s a monster,” she whispered out.

If Olenna was surprised by what she had said then she hid it behind a neutral expression; Margaery was just regarding her with sad brown doe eyes. “Well, that’s a shame. Can’t say I’m particularly surprised, not with all those rumours flying around. A pity really.” She got up to leave, but not before stopping and talking to Sansa once more. “Fear not child; I’m not about to run and tell on you.”

“I’m so sorry Sansa. I had no idea he was like that,” Margaery said to her. “You didn’t deserve that.” She moved her chair so that she was sitting directly next to Sansa and gently pulled her down so that her head was resting against the brunette’s shoulder. Gentle fingers tenderly stroked through her hair and massage her scalp; Sansa found herself relaxing into it, despite not wanting to. Something about Margaery just seemed to put her at ease.

“I know you’ve suffered a lot, Sansa. But I promise you I will do all I can to stop anything from happening to you.”

 _My father promised the same and look where he is_ , Sansa wanted to say but bit her tongue; just allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of being protected and safe with Margaery.

“I want us to be friends. Good friends. And I can tell you a secret,” she said. Sansa sat up and looked directly at Margaery. “We’re trying to get you out of here.”

“What?” Sansa couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Margaery simply beamed at her. “We’re trying to marry you and Loras together,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “You would get to leave and be happy in Highgarden.”

Sansa wasn’t stupid; she knew that it was likely for her claim to the North rather than actually having her happiness in mind. But she couldn’t care – she was _finally_ getting to leave. Destiny had intervened and she’d get to marry her soulmate after all. The idea of her and Loras in Highgarden, walking through the gardens, far far away from Joffrey and his cruelty… it was almost a dream come true.

Margaery grabbed her hand. “We would be sisters, you and I,” still smiling at her. Sansa threw herself at Margaery, almost crushing her in a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered tearfully into her ear. She could feel Margaery’s hand stroke through her hair again.

“Of course, Sansa. I want you to be happy.”

**\--------------------**

Spending time with her future husband was hard at times. Loras always seemed distracted, torn apart by something Sansa could never fully figure out. Giving answers that she could not develop on, grunts or even just thoughtful looks. Soulmates were meant to be able to read each other perfectly – and yet, she struggled with her own.

“How does your training fare, my lord?” she asked one day as they sat in the gardens.

“Well enough,” he answered. Sansa wanted to bond with him but he wasn’t making it easy.

“What is Highgarden like?” she asked. Ever since Margaery had told her the plan to get her out of King’s Landing, she had been desperate to leave.

“Hot. Very pretty. I’m sure you’ll like it when we move there when we are wed.”

“I await our wedding day with bated breath sir,” Sansa smiled at him. Surely, wedding talk would cheer him up, get him to open up a little?

“Yes. I hope to be a kind husband to you, my lady.”

Wedding talk clearly wasn’t working. Sansa decided to go down the only route she knew would get some sort of emotion out of him. “I’m sure Lady Margaery will love helping to plan the ceremony. Perhaps she could even suggest an idea or two that she might use for her own wedding?”

“Margaery does like planning things. When we were younger, she always used to categorise flowers by how pretty they were, or by how colourful they were, or which ones smelled the nicest.”

 _Aha_! So talking about Margaery was the secret. “She does seem the type to do that. She seemed ever eager for us to get married.”

Loras sighed. “Margaery cares about your happiness. She wants nothing more than for you to be happy and away from this miserable place.”

Sansa was touched by how much Margaery cared for her. “She definitely is a wonderful lady. I did feel sorry for her when I learnt about Lord Renly’s passing.”

Loras turned to her, seemingly angry with her. “Margaery’s feelings?! You felt sorry for her?! How she was feeling?!” Loras was shouting at this point, people were beginning to look at them. He was more than angry; furious, seething with hatred. “Everyone always goes on and on about Margaery – “oh, I bet Margaery’s sad; I wonder how Margaery’s doing after losing her husband; I wonder if Margaery’s feeling better about losing her husband.” Perhaps if people opened their _fucking_ eyes, they’d finally see the _fucking_ truth of it all! But no, everyone alwa-“

“Loras!” Margaery shouted at him. “By the Gods, what are you doing?!”

He was red in the face at this point, out of breath from shouting. “You know what? I don’t fucking need this,” he said as he stormed away.

Sansa couldn’t believe what ha just occurred. So much for finding a way for him to open up. She saw her vision get blurred by tears and felt cool arms wrap around her.

“Are you okay?” Margaery asked. “I’m sorry about him; you didn’t deserve that.”

“I don’t even know what I did wrong,” she said. “I just… I…”

“It’s okay,” pulling Sansa’s head down to her shoulder, hands stroking through her hair. “You’re shaking, you poor thing.”

They stayed like that for some time, Sansa recovering in Margaery’s gentle hold. “I’m not sure what I even did to set him off like that. I only mentioned my sympathy for you when you lost Lord Renly and then he just did that.”

Margaery pulled Sansa’s head up from her shoulder. “Come with me, sweet girl.” Margaery looped her arm through hers and walked with her until they reached a quiet, secluded section of the gardens. “I had no affection for Renly. He was Loras’ soulmate and Loras was his. So when people ask if I’m okay, he gets frustrated since I had no real affection towards the man but he was the one who loved him.”

“Oh.” Sansa didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t imagine losing her soulmate. Perhaps she already had. “I always thought Loras was my soulmate; I thought – I hoped - he wanted to marry me.”

“Why would you think that?” Margaery asked.

Sansa rolled up the sleeves of her gown and showed Margaery the rose that sat on her wrist. “I thought when we became betrothed that we had finally found each other. I guess not.”

“Wait!” Margaery cried out. She rolled up her own sleeve and revealed the mark that sat on her wrist.

A direwolf.

Sansa moved her hand forward and gently touched the mark; surprisingly, it began to glow faintly underneath Sansa’s fingertips.

“It’s you,” Sansa said in awe. “You’re my soulmate. It’s you.”

Margaery returned Sansa’s look of awe for a moment, seemingly happily surprised that she had found her soulmate too. Then she brought her hands to the back of Sansa’s neck and brought their lips crashing together.

**\--------------------**

Having Margaery as her soulmate made sense when she thought about it. Sansa had always felt more comfortable around her than she did Loras, always got along with Margaery better than she did Loras.

Their friendship had evolved since finding out they were soulmates – she still invited Sansa to tea and to go for their walks. But soon after, she would send her ladies-in-waiting away and drag Sansa to the nearest quietest corner, pressing her lips to hers the moment they were alone.

It was nothing like the practice kisses her and Jeyne used to exchange. Those were clumsy, messy, unpractised, simple preparations for their future soulmates. Margaery’s were skilled, the way she would use her tongue in Sansa’s mouth, biting gently on her lip, touching her everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Sansa felt woefully unprepared at times for how good Margaery was; how was she meant to compete with her? But Margaery would always bat her lashes, give her that wonderful smirk she adored and whisper sweet things in her ear.

“You feel like you’re not that good at kissing?” she asked.

Sansa blushed and nodded, feeling oh so embarrassed at the statement. Margaery simply pressed her lips on Sansa’s, giving her a trail of kisses that started on her lips and ending by her ear.

“Guess I should give you lots of practice then,” she whispered.

Gods, this woman was a gift from the gods. Margaery’s kindness was unfailing and her presence changed everything.

Ever since she had arrived in the capital, things had been a little brighter for Sansa. Joffrey had left her alone more. Whispers about her had stopped almost entirely. She had a company of people her own age instead of just herself.

Sansa didn’t know how she managed to survive without her.

**\--------------------**

Watching Joffrey die was… Sansa didn’t know how she felt about it.

On one hand, she was delighted; the vile little boy had finally gotten what he had deserved. Payback for all the evil he hand dished out into the world. for her father and everyone else he had killed.

On the other, she was apathetic. His death wouldn’t bring her father back. It wouldn’t take back all the abuse he subjected her to, all the torment he subjected her through.

Still, it wasn’t something to dwell on. She and Tyrion were blamed for his death – as much as Sansa hated him, she doubted she would be able to plot his death, at his wedding no less – by Cersei. As much as Tyrion seemed to dislike his nephew, she doubted he would be able to do something like that either. Then again, she spent most of her time either avoiding him, or with Margaery, so she didn’t know for certain.

 _Margaery_. That’s where most of her concern lied. Margaery seemed so scared as she watched Joffrey collapse, choking on the poison-laced within the pie. Clearly, she had no idea of the plot either, as she screamed and looked on the verge of tears. Her grandmother hadn’t informed her of that.

Littlefinger telling her of the plot had shocked her. He sat her down and explain that he and the Queen of Thorns needed Joffrey gone – to protect her and Margaery and the realm as a whole. Clearly a lie – Littlefinger cared not for the realm in the slightest – but he had told her the best lies often contained a small piece of the truth. It was only then she noticed the small soulmark on his wrist.

A trout.

Sansa tried to reason with herself on why they would do it. Olenna wanting Joffrey gone made sense – she didn’t want Joffrey to lay a finger on Margaery, hurt her the way he hurt Sansa – but Littlefinger? He stood to gain very little from the king's death. He claimed it was to get her away from King’s Landing, so then why whisk her to the Vale? Why not take her to Highgarden, where she would be safe and happy?

And she could have Margaery.

Realising that last piece of information finally made things click in Sansa’s brain. He was jealous of Margaery. She was well aware that he had designs set on her – it was pointed out to her several times back in the capital – but for what? She had a claim to the North, yes but that was controlled by the Bolton’s now. They were onside of the crown – a side that Littlefinger was a part of – so why her?

She was unable to tell just exactly what his plans where for her were, but she did know that he would stand to gain immensely, no matter what they were.

Margaery would know what to do. Even at the thought of her soulmate, she involuntarily smiled, her heart doing a little flutter. Leaving King’s Landing meant leaving Margaery; as much as Sansa loved to see it fade into the horizon, it meant leaving behind Margaery.

The night before her wedding to Joffrey, she had invited Sansa up to her chambers, where they had spent her remaining unwedded life together. Margaery had touched Sansa everywhere and Sansa had kissed all over her body. If she thought back hard enough, she could still feel how her body tingled under her touch.

They had spent the rest of the night curled up together, talking about what might’ve happened if their circumstances were different. Perhaps they would’ve found each other regardless of their situations.

And waking up wrapped in Margaery’s arms – Sansa knew that she never wanted to experience anything else again.

But she would have to. Being shipped away as a fugitive, hiding underneath the deck of a ship, travelling to a place she had never been to before.

She closed her eyes and tried to get some sleep before they would arrive there.

**\--------------------**

_King in the North!_

_King in the North!_

_King in the North!_

The chant still rang in her head, bolstered by Northern lords and wildling. They had taken back Winterfell, reclaimed the North in the Stark’s name. And she had dealt with Ramsay, gotten revenge for everything he had done do her, Theon, Rickon and the North as a whole.

But it had come at a price. Many Northsmen and wildlings lay dead, their small army shrunken to an even smaller size. Lord Baelish, a person she thought she would never have to see again, constantly at her side, worming his way into her life and her home. 

But the North was now free. Independent once again. Lead by King Jon Snow, first of his name, son of Ned and brother to Robb, the white wolf. It was a fragile position; in all honesty, it would not take much for the Lannister armies to come up and crush their rebellion, subjecting the North to southern rule once again. But from what Sansa heard, the crown had its hand full with the Faith rearmed, so they had some time to prepare should the need arise.

She hoped Margaery was okay. It’d been years since she had heard anything from the woman herself or even about her. Ever since her escape from King’s Landing, she felt like she’d been missing a part of herself, a tether that was constantly connecting her back to the capital. Perhaps one day she’d be able to meet her soulmate again and they could finally be together.

Jon’s reaction to Margaery was unexpected. He laughed at first, unable to comprehend that his sister who had been so obsessed with Joffrey had his bride as a soulmate. He was happy that she found some form of saving grace in the Lannister court. He had told her about a girl he had met living with the wildlings and about how he had lost her in a battle. She never imagined them becoming this close when they were younger but now? She wouldn’t have it any other way.

But things could not stay blissful between them for long – Jon was concerned with an army of the dead. They lay beyond the wall, killing and conscripting any living soul into their army. Coming from any other person, Sansa would not have believed them – preposterous tales like that belonged in a storybook, told to frighten children into behaving. But it had come from Jon, son of Ned, who raised them with honour and honestly, first and foremost and had personally fought them in hand-to-hand combat.

Sansa was at a loss on how to help. She knew nothing of armies or battle tactics. Her strengths lay in politics and diplomacy. Which lead to their current situation.

“It’s unfeasible,” he said. “We won’t be able to fight the dead with our current size.”

“So we get more men. Recruit from the houses and land we just took back.”

Jon sighed. “Even if we trained every single man, woman and child to fight the dead, it still wouldn’t be enough. Maybe if the entire continent was on our side, we would stand a chance.”

“We don’t have that luxury. Even if people believed us, who to say they’d fight and die alongside us?” Sansa doubted that even all of their current army believed it.

“We need allies. Men. Armies. We’ve enemies to the north, enemies to the south. I can’t see how we’re going to last long in our current position.”

“Have the other houses responded?” Sansa asked. They had written to all the Northern houses asking for their support the previous day, hoping that they would once again choose to rally behind house Stark.

“We should’ve received their ravens today,” Jon said. He gestured for Sansa to follow him to their raven coop. Sansa couldn’t help but notice the state Winterfell had been left in; broken walkways, crumbling walls, rotting floorboards. The Bolton’s were certainly not kind to her home. 

As they arrived at their raven coop, Jon sighed. There were still mostly empty cages, meaning they were still awaiting responses from several houses.

“I know it’s only been a day bu-“

“It would be useful if it was done quicker. I know.” Sansa knew exactly how Jon felt; it would be hard to reinforce their position in the North if the lords dragged their feet with replying to ravens.

Jon moved over to the two ravens that were in their cages. He picked one out and unrolled the scroll attached to its leg. He chuckled to himself. “A scroll from the citadel. They say winter is here.”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile back. “Father always said this day would come eventually.” _I wish he were still alive to see it._

He did not deserve the fate he did. Even the statue of him in the crypts did not look like him much. Many people knew his face; fewer were alive to recall it.

Sansa was brought out of her musings by Jon unravelling the second scroll. He looked up at her, distress seeming to reflect directly from his eyes.

“What is it?” she asked, although a sinking feeling in her stomach told her that she wouldn’t want to know the answer.

“Cersei Lannister has crowned herself queen.”

_No._

“The Sept of Baelor has been destroyed.”

 _No_.

“Ser Loras Tyrell died in the explosion.”

_No._

“Along with the former queen Margaery Tyrell.”

“NO!” she cried, falling to her knees, tears falling of their own accord. Margaery couldn’t be dead, she couldn’t be. Her Margaery, so smart and cunning, couldn’t have been outsmarted by Cersei, no matter the scenario.

She felt Jon pull her into his arms as she cried against his shoulder. She was ripped apart from her soulmate without the chance to ever say goodbye, and now Margaery was gone from this world, taken from her by Cersei Lannister.

Jeyne. Lady. Her father and mother. Arya. Robb. And now Margaery.

How many more people was she destined to lose?

**\--------------------**

“You can’t leave!”

“I told you, Sansa, we need allies! She’s our best shot at winning this war!”

“The North isn’t going to sit and wait for you like Ghost! They didn’t crown you king only for you to leave after the fact!”

“I’m leaving it in good hands. Yours.”

Sansa stopped. He couldn’t be serious, could he – he did not intend to leave her with the lands he ruled?

“But you’re the king.”

“I am. And as the king, I’m choosing you to rule in my stead. You’re more than capable.”

Sansa knew that she was skilled at diplomacy and other political means but ruling? Did he really consider he capable?

“Don’t do that.” Sansa looked at him, bewildered. “Second-guessing yourself,” Jon went on. “You’re more than skilled at this. I wouldn’t have made it these last couple of weeks if I didn’t have you by my side. You know the needs of the North better than anyone.”

“But they elected you king, Jon. Not me”

“Me and you both know that the only reason you are not ruler is because of what hangs between our legs. You’re Ned Stark’s trueborn; you can do this Sansa.”

Sansa gave him a small smile. “I appreciate your faith in me.” She paused. “And since you have so much faith in me, perhaps you would be willing to listening to reason?”

Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair. Sansa knew he was unwilling to budge on this topic but continued on anyway.

“You can’t leave. You’ll be betraying to North – they crowned you king and one of your first acts is to leave!”

“How many times Sansa, we need allies. How are we going to fight the dead with our current strength? We’d be signing our own death sentences to sit around and do nothing.” Jon seemed exhausted trying to convince people of the true threat that lies beyond the wall.

“You can’t be sure that this dragon queen is really as strong as the rumour make her out to be,” Sansa tried.

“All the more reason to assess her strength myself.” Rumours about the dragon queen had travelled all throughout Westeros. That she transforms into a dragon in battle. That she uses fire and blood to get her way. That she has three dragons that dwarfed her the size of the red keep.

“And what if the rumours are false?”

“If they’re false, we have a few more men to fight alongside us. If they’re true, we gain three dragons in the fight. Either way, it’s a good thing.”

Sansa groaned. Was he really _this_ stubborn? _This_ unwilling to compromise?

“Send an envoy in your stead; don’t travel yourself,” Sansa suggested.

“If you’re really concerned about me leaving, why don’t I invite her here instead?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Sansa,” Jon sighed.

“Winterfell is not about to play host to foreign armies.” They lacked the food, the space, the resources to do so; they were barely keeping afloat themselves.

“Then do tell me how I should go about this?” Jon genuinely sounded frustrated with her at this point.

“I don’t know! But there has to be a better solution than this!” Sansa gave back. They were both angry and frustrated with each other, disgruntled at the others inability to see things there way. “Anything is better than you leaving,” she said in a small whisper.

Jon move and wrapped her in a hug. For as angry as she was with him, she still sunk into it, resting her face in the fur of her cloak.

“Why don’t you want me to go, Sansa?” he asked.

“The North cr-“

“I asked you. Not about the North.”

Sansa pulled back and looked directly at Jon. “Our grandfather and uncle went south and were burned by the mad king. Father went south and his head currently sits on a pike on the red keep. Mother and Robb went south and they were slaughtered at a wedding.” She sighed, mourning all their losses, although the pain had dulled a little after years of having them gone. “Starks don’t fare well in the south.”

“I will be as careful as I ever have been,” he reassured her. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I still have to go.”

And here they were again, getting nowhere. Talking in circles. Round and round the same arguments until they were both exhausted.

“Even after all I’ve said, you’re really still considerin-“

She was interrupted by the door opening and Davos walking in. He had the same grim expression he always seemed to wear on his face.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Jon said with finality in his voice. “I was just explaining to Sansa why my decision to go won’t be changed.”

Sansa bit back the desire to sigh. For all his talk about her being skilled at diplomacy and him valuing her opinion, he chose to ignore her input. _Again._ He was a good king but by the Gods, he wasn’t half stubborn with it.

Jon and Davos shot into talk about stocks and repairs that needed to be made. Sansa only half-payed attention, feeling a headache coming on from her earlier argument with Jon. He was exacerbating at times, even if he did have good intentions.

Sansa was just about to excuse herself before Davos said something that caught her attention.

“There is one final matter. The guards admitted a visitor asking for one of the Starks. Highborn from the sounds of it.”

“Did they say who they were?” Jon asked. Nobody had come to meet with them as of yet, Jon no doubt thinking about how they could be used against the dead in battle.

“If I’m honest, I think she’s lying. She’s claiming to be Margaery Ty-“

“Take me to her.” Sansa didn’t even need to wait for the end of the sentence before butting in. If there was a small chance that this was _her_ Margaery, then she would take it.

“Sansa, we don’t even kno-“ Jon began.

“I don’t care. If it’s her… if that’s…” her voice broke, surprising herself. She had gained a far better control over her emotions over the years but as with most things, Margaery seemed to be an exception to her.

The trio left the room and Sansa felt Jon’s hand at the small of her back. A small comfort. Her heart pounded in her chest, desperate and longing to see her soulmate again. This woman would have hell to pay if she was lying.

They reached the greathall and Sansa was shocked to see who stood before her. Margaery – if this woman was telling the truth – looked a far cry from how she did in King’s Landing. Gone were the wonderfully styled hairdo’s and makeup; her hair lay ripped and lopsided, burn marks and rough bruises covering exposed skin. The flowery garments replaced with a simple shawl, ripped and torn all over.

But as the woman looked up, she could still see the same doe brown eyes that belonged to the Tyrell. The same eyes that always looked at her so softly, full of adoration. The same eyes she fell in love with.

A guard pulled her up from her position on the floor, seemingly uncaring for how roughly he treated her. “Lay another hand on her and you will lose it.” Sansa shocked herself with how her voice commanded the threat, a mix of anger and sadness. No-one would hurt Margaery. No-one.

The guard simply stood back and watched as Sansa moved closer to Margaery. “Marge? It’s really you?” She was so unsure of herself, wanting nothing more than it to desperately be Margaery and but uncertain if it really was.

Sansa held out her hand. An invitation for safety. For comfort.

An invitation to love.

Margaery took her hand. The small rose on her wrist began to glow.

Sansa cried out, pulling Margaery flush against her, wrapping her in a tight hug that was probably more painful than comforting. But she failed to find a part of her that cared; Margaery was here in her arms and Sansa didn’t plan to ever let her go again.

But with the way Margaery returned her embrace, it was clear to her that Margaery never planned to either.

**\--------------------**

Sansa didn’t want to let Margaery out of her sight. Paced in the room when the maester inspected her. Sat by her side while she bathed. Gave her a seat at the high table when they went to eat. She was still scared that they would find a way to disappear on each other again, that they’d be torn apart by the world once more.

But Margaery always kept smiling at Sansa, spoke to her while her back was turned, held her hand underneath the table. Margaery wasn’t going anywhere.

If only Sansa could fully comprehend that. She sat in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, utterly exhausted by the events of the day and yet unable to fall asleep. Jon still planned on leaving to meet with the dragon queen the following day, and Sansa would be given control of the North in his absence.

And yet, all she could think about, all she could focus on, was Margaery, probably fast asleep in the chamber next door.

Sansa had a million questions on her mind, things she wanted Margaery to share with her and things she wanted to share with Margaery. But she worried that it was too much too soon – she herself had taken a few days to open up to Jon about everything at Castle Black.

She was just glad to have Margaery here with her. Jon seemed happy that she had her soulmate back. Lord Baelish seemed surprised that she managed to survive Cersei but was overall neutral to her appearance. No doubt he had some plan on how to use her in his own great game.

She would have to deal with him at some point and would rather it be sooner than later. He had helped poison Joffrey, killed her aunt Lysa and had torn all the kingdoms for her mother. And now he wanted her. Jon leaving just gave him ample opportunity to plant more seeds in Winterfell, to reinforce whatever plan he undoubtedly had in motion.

She couldn’t risk outright ousting him – not without losing the support of the Knights of the Vale – but she couldn’t let him sit there and get up to his own devices either.

It was all shit.

Sansa had just about given up on trying to get to sleep, with all the thoughts swimming around in her mind, before she heard a gentle rapping at her chamber door. She got up and opened it, to find Margaery standing before her, in the nightdress she had given her.

“Sansa.” She looked cold and afraid. “I…”

Sansa wasted no time, pulling her into the chamber and into her arms. She was shivering, cold to the touch. Her head lay just above Sansa’s heart, which was beating overtime, nestled underneath her neck.

“Stay with me?” she asked, not wanting to be apart from her any longer. “Please?” She felt Margaery nod against her chest and pulled her back to the bed. Sansa wrapped the furs around the pair as she felt Margaery slowly relax against her, safe in her arms.

“I missed you. So much,” Sansa whispered. More than she could vocalise to Margaery; it was as if a piece of herself was gone too.

“I missed you too, sweet girl,” she whispered back. “I lost everything. My family, my home, almost my life… and yet all I could think about was you.” Tears rolled down her cheeks; Sansa swiped them away with her thumb.

“You’re here now. With me. I won’t let anyone harm you. Ever again.” Sansa scooted closer so that they were sharing the same pillow, breathing the same air. She stared into the brown eyes that she had longed years for.

“Sansa…” Margaery breathed. “What we had in King’s Landing was… well it was better than I could ever describe. Or even ask for.” She took a deep breath as if she was steeling herself for what she was about to say. “But I know situations change and… you deserve someone wonderful who will protect and look out for you. Even a political marriage may be on the cards for you. So I’ll understand if yo-“

Sansa immediately cut her off by pressing her lips to Margaery’s. Was she really that worried? That she had forgotten what being with her was like? That she would give up the greatest feeling she’s ever known?

The kiss wasn’t particularly heated or pushing. Just a gentle press of lips, with Sansa’s hands at the back of Margaery’s neck, showing their affection, love pouring out of both them. How they longed for each other. How much they had missed each other.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Sansa said as she pulled back, one hand cupping Margaery’s cheek. “I just want you. Only you.”

Both girls were crying at this point but they were tears of joy.

“I love you,” Margaery told her, pressing her forehead against Sansa’s.

“I love you too,” Sansa said back, grins on both their faces. “So, so much.”

They both found sleep much easier after that, wrapped in each other’s arms, their hearts full of soft kisses and whispered ‘I love you’s.’

**\--------------------**

Sansa was delighted that she seemed to be finally finding all the missing pieces of her family. First Rickon was saved at the Battle for Winterfell, then Margaery found her after Cersei thankfully failed to kill her. Then Bran turned up with his protector, claiming to be the Three-Eyed Raven – whatever that meant. Now Arya had finally made her way back home after being thought dead by everyone.

Even as the guards told her of an intruder asking for people that were now nothing but ghosts of her past, she knew it had to be her sister. Had to be the final Stark yet to make it back home. And much like Sansa, the first place she visited was her father’s crypt.

When Sansa saw her, she looked oh so very different from the girl who left Winterfell with her all those years ago. Where she had been small and scrawny before, now she had grown into herself and looked… well, she looked like the very man she was currently looking at.

“You shouldn’t have run away from the guards,” she said. “They don’t take kindly to people running amok around Winterfell.”

Arya turned to her, a hint of a smile on her face. “I’m sure Lady Stark will find a way to get me out of trouble.”

“I don’t think Lady Stark will, even if she is a princess of the North.” They stood face-to-face, Sansa towering over her smaller sister. “But I think she can make an exception this one time. Considering she missed her dearly.”

Arya waited for just a moment before rushing into her sister and wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug; Sansa returned it tenfold. One of the things she regretted over the years was the animosity between her and her sister. It seemed so pointless now, all their fights over such trivial things. All that mattered was that they were both alive and back home, where they belonged.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Sansa said to her sister.

“And you,” Arya returned. “I can’t imagine surviving King’s Landing was easy.”

“It wasn’t.” She suppressed a shudder at all the occurred to her in the wretched city. “But luckily, I had someone to help me through it.” Her mind drifted to the brunette currently recovering in her – _their­ –_ bed.

“I’m glad.” She looked back up at their father's crypt. “It doesn’t look like him.”

Sansa sighed. “It doesn’t. But all the people that knew his face were killed long ago.”

“I avenged him then. Most of them were on my list.”

“Your list?” Sansa said, befuddled.

“The list of people I’m going to kill,” her sister responded, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Sansa wouldn’t really blame her; she would happily see all those who wronged her family dead, their names erased from history, like they tried to do to hers.

“Everyone else made it home,” Sansa told her, attempting to bring the mood to a more lighter tone; it seemed to have worked, with Arya smiling now.

“I can’t wait to see them all; Bran and Rickon and Jon.”

“Jon’s not here,” Sansa sighed. “He’s away negotiating an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen.”

“And I’m guessing you do not approve?” Sansa must’ve not hidden the disappointment and frustration her voice if Arya was able to pick up on it.

“I am simply worried for him,” Sansa explained. “Starks don’t fare well in the south. We’ve only just all found each other again. I don’t want to lose anyone anytime soon.”

“He’ll be fine,” Arya said plainly. Even after not seeing him for years, her faith in him had clearly not wavered. “He wasn’t crowned king for nothing.”

“Neither was Robb nor father or mother; look how they turned out.” The south was not good to any Stark, no matter how smart or quick or brilliant a fighter they were.

“You helped avenge them though. I heard you killed Joffrey,” Arya said after a silence.

“I didn’t, but I wish I did. It was all Littlefinger and the Tyrell’s doing.” Well, mostly Olenna’s doing; Margaery was just as unaware of the plot as she was.

“I met him once. He met with Tywin Lannister while I was in Harrenhal.”

That wasn’t surprising. Littlefinger was always one to support the most promising side, no matter if it meant betraying and trampling previous alliances and allies. “He’s pledged his allegiance to House Stark for the moment. And with the state of things in the south, I think he’s going to be on side for a while.”

Arya's eyes widened. “He’s here?” she asked, her voice a mix of wonder and anger.

“Unfortunately. His forces make up the bulk of the army now, and we can’t afford to lose their support.” She sighed, the same way she always seemed to when talking about him; keeping up with Littlefinger’s plots and schemes always found a way to exhaust her. “He’s a dangerous man, Arya. He helped kill Jon Arryn and our aunt. He betrayed his most promising alliance with the Lannister’s for his own personal gain. And now he wants me.”

“If he even thinks about touching you, I’ll gut him.” Arya’s hand rested on the same sword Jon had gotten her before they left for King’s Landing.

“Jon said the same thing,” she smiled. “But we can’t threaten him when we depend on him too much.”

“He’ll make a mistake eventually. Men like that always do.”

Perhaps. But everyone else seemed to suffer for Littlefinger’s mistakes, while he always found a way to come out victorious.

“I heard some rumours on my way back.” The way Arya spoke and the way she regarded Sansa with her grey eyes made her pit of her stomach turn over.

“What rumours?” she asked, even though that she was pretty sure she knew that answer that would be coming.

Arya regarded her silently. “That the Lannister queen survived whatever happened in King’s Landing and has made her way to Winterfell.

Sansa looked down at the ground. Of course, it would be about Margaery. If Sansa was in the same position, she would likely be distrustful of her too; a queen jumping from alliance to alliance all in a bid for the throne resting at Winterfell would look suspicious for outsiders.

Sansa steeled herself. “She was forced into marriages for power. She suffered in King’s Landing just as I did, imprisoned for crimes she didn’t commit. Cersei couldn’t control her so tried to have her killed – she failed with her but succeeded with her family.” Margaery had told her the full story of what had happened since they had been separated in bed one night, limbs tangled with Sansa’s beneath the furs. “She may have been power-hungry in the past, but I assure you she’s no threat to us.”

Arya seemed to contemplate her words, allowing Sansa to hope that she had gotten through to her, even if she was distrustful of Margaery. “Can you be so sure of that?”

“I can.” She lifted her sleeve to show her the soulmark on her wrist. “She’s my soulmate. And I trust her eternally.”

Arya inspected her mark for a moment then rolled up her sleeve to show Sansa her soulmark.

A stag.

“When this came through, I thought you would hate me for it,” she joked.

“Perhaps in another lifetime,” she giggled. Sansa at ten-and-three might’ve hated her, but now? She was just happy her sister had made her way home.

“Do you know them?” Her sister glared at her. “Do they have you in return?” she teased, only to have the glare increase in its intensity.

“I tell you all about it once we deal with Littlefinger,” Arya said, trying to stop her teasing.

“All the more reason to get on with it then, isn’t it?”

**\--------------------**

Tricking Lord Baelish had been difficult. It wasn’t hard to fake the deteriorating relationship between Sansa and Arya – they had just slipped back into their old argumentative ways – but the real challenge had come from faking Margaery’s plotting and planning.

Lord Baelish had assumed that she was still the power-hungry girl he went in Renly Baratheon’s camp and that she would jump at chances to power. So if an opportunity presented itself, then she would have to take it, say whatever sweet words he would want to hear – and Arya to overhear.

Having to argue with Margaery while Littlefinger was in earshot was the hard part – the names she and Margaery would have to call each other, the vile comments they would have to make, the things they would accuse each of, _that_ was what tore Sansa apart.

She would always rush to apologise when he wasn’t around, kiss her and hold her in her arms at night. She treasured the small moments she got to spend with Margaery, even more, when she had to be at her throat for most of the day. 

But eventually, he messed up. Faking correspondence between Cersei and Margaery, notes from Arya she didn’t write, actions plans from Sansa that she didn’t devise. One of the best things he taught Sansa was that you should strike when your opponent is weak and unexpecting an attack. So they all did exactly that.

Arya stood before Sansa in their greathall, supposedly being called on trial for treason against the North.

“You stand on trial for treason, for murder, for conspiracy against the North. How do you answer these charges…” pausing for a moment, “… Lord Baelish?”

Luckily, he seemed completely unaware of their plot. “Excuse me?”

“My sister asked you a question,” Arya told him.

“Forgive me, Lady Sansa, I’m a bit confused.” He genuinely did seem so, which made it all the more satisfying when they brought the hammer down onto him.

“Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? You betrayed Jon Arryn by poisoning him, you threw my aunt Lysa through the moondoor, aided the Lannister’s in betraying my father, and tried to pit me and my sister and my soulmate against each other.”

“Lady Sansa, I’m afraid you have it all wrong. If I could just explain…” He tried to worm his way out but the trio were having none of it.

“Go ahead. Explain,” Margaery said. “We’re all eager to hear what you have to say.”

“Alone would be the best, Lady Sansa.”

“Why?” she asked. “I have nothing to hide from anyone in this room and if you’re as innocent as you say you are, neither should you.”

Littlefinger paused, clearly caught on the backfoot. “Ever since Lady Margaery and Lady Arya returned, they have poisoned your mind. I am simply trying to ensure you keep a clear head.”

“Is that so?” Sansa said dryly. “I suppose you betraying my father was helping him keep a clear head too, was it?”

“I never betrayed your father.”

“Yes, you did,” Bran said from her side. “You held a knife to his throat and said, “I warned you not to trust me.”

“And the documents you forged between Cersei Lannister and Margaery? Those were keeping her head clear too?” Arya pitched in.

“You’re a snake, Lord Baelish,” Sansa chimed in. “Driving wedges between alliances and families, just as you did to my mother and my aunt, just as you tried to do to me and my sister and Margaery.”

Littlefinger finally seemed to realise that he wasn’t going to come out of this victorious. He marched over to the leader of the Knights of the Vale. “I demand you escort me back to the Eyrie!”

“I think not!” he huffed, turned against him at the revelation that he killed both Jon and Lysa Arryn.

He truly looked desperate at this point. Was this how he felt doing the same to the many people he had? Powerful and victorious at having outsmarted them?

Littlefinger dropped to his knees and began to beg. “Lay Sansa, please. I loved your mother, more than anyone.”

“And yet, you betrayed her.”

“I loved you, more than anyone.”

“And yet, you betrayed me. Ripped me away from my soulmate for your own jealousy. Tried to tear apart my family again for your own personal gain.” Sansa looked at him in disgust. “When you betrayed my father, you should’ve killed us all. For leave one wolf alive…”

“And the sheep are never safe,” Arya finished, drawing Needle from its sheath.

“Sansa, please.” Were she more like Joffrey or Ramsay, she might’ve revealed in the fact her was currently kneeling in front of her, begging for his life. She presumed a man like him incapable of crying, and yet here he was, tears streaming down his face. Sansa almost pitied him.

“Thank you for your many lessons, Petyr. I will be sure to remember them.”

He may have had something left to say, one final thing to try and stop his fate. But it came too little, too late. Arya slit his throat and the room watched his corpse slump to the ground and bleed out.

**\--------------------**

“I can’t believe he’s done this! Out of all people, he should know what we’ve been fighting for!” Sansa continued to pace up and down the length of their room, Margaery’s eyes on her from their bed. The news had just come in from the group that had arrived from King’s Landing that Jon had bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen and was trying to recruit Cersei Lannister in an alliance. “He knows how much we’ve suffered under southern rule; how much the Lannister’s have taken from us; how the Targaryen’s have wronged our family. And yet he does this?” Sansa was unable to make sense of any of it.

Margaery got up from the bed and held her hands out; it took only a small instant before Sansa was in front of her holding them.

“Sweet girl? Breathe.” She felt Margaery’s hand squeeze her own. “You won’t understand it any quicker if you keep yourself worked up like this.”

Sansa took a deep breath and did feel some of the tension leave her. But that was more likely down to Margaery’s hand holding than her breathing slower.

“It’s just – he knows what Robb died for. He was there when we took back Winterfell and declared that we would never again be ruled by a southern ruler. I just don’t see how he thought that _this_ was the best course of action.”

“Perhaps she feels the same way? Your father overthrew her family, and now his son comes to her asking for an alliance to fight an enemy most people do not believe even exists,” Margaery challenged. “Do you really think she’d blindly offer her support without getting something in return?”

“No, it’s the smart thing to do. It’s just the total disregard of everything we’ve fought for by Jon is what truly upsets me.”

“I heard many deeds that she did over in Essos when I was queen. She liberated slaves, reformed laws, fought for justice; she sounds a far cry from her father,” Margaery said, running her hands up and down her arms.

“And yet, she’s coming to here to conquer us all and force us to swear allegiance,” Sansa responded. “Doesn’t sound like she fights for freedom to me.”

“You can’t judge her when you haven’t even met her yet. Talk to your brother when he gets back. I’m sure he’ll clear up any doubts you might have about her.” Margaery pressed her lips to Sansa’s, an action that never failed to make Sansa feel better about almost anything. “Besides, think of all the good that happened today. You got Jeyne back.”

Sansa supposed she was right. She did finally get Jeyne back after all these years; Brienne and Podrick had found her and brought her back to Winterfell, where Sansa promptly introduced her to Margaery. They had gotten along wonderfully, and Jeyne seemed genuinely happy that Sansa had found her soulmate.

And with the way that Jeyne and Podrick traded those longing looks and secret smiles, Jeyne might have found hers too.

“It certainly has been a long day.”

“And things are only bound to get longer and more tiring,” Margaery said squeezing her hands and moving close. “Best get some rest while we can.”

Sansa cupped Margaery’s cheek: even with her burns scars, she was still so breathtakingly beautiful to Sansa. She leant in for a gentle kiss.

“What was that for?” she asked, grinning.

“Because I can,” Sansa responded. “Because I love you.”

“I love you too,” dragging Sansa to the bed where they both showed each other just how much they adored each other long into the night.

**\--------------------**

Sansa hadn’t had much time to speak with the dragon queen. A few kind empty words exchanged over feasts but nothing beyond that. She got most of her communication about her from Tyrion and Daenerys got most of her communication about her from Jon. Neither side seemed in any particular rush to change that.

Which made it all the more surprising that Daenerys appeared in one of their meeting rooms one morning after breaking their fast.

“Lady Sansa,” she said, smiling at her. “We haven’t spoken fully since my arrival. I was hoping we could have the opportunity to rectify that.”

In all honestly, Sansa would rather not. There were stocks to be rationed and men to be armed and repairs to be made. She didn’t have time for idle chit chat and gossiping with the dragon queen.

But she went along with diplomacy anyway. “Of course, your grace. I do apologise. I always seem to be running one problem after another.”

“The struggles of being in command.” She smiled at Sansa the same way Margaery did back in King’s Landing, although Sansa doubted Daenerys was secretly her soulmate as well.

“What did you want to discuss?” she asked, hoping it was something that would be over with quickly.

“I wanted to extend my gratitude towards you for your hospitality. I know it isn’t easy having to accommodate all my men and my dragons.”

 _You have no idea_ , Sansa thought. “It took some work but we can manage with what supplies we currently have, providing the war does not ruin us too badly,” she responded. She hoped the war would take place far far away from Winterfell, but with the way things were going, it looked like it was going to happen in the very grounds of the castle itself.

Daenerys smiled at her for just a second longer before dropping it and sighing.

“My Lady, I shall not disrespect you and pretend that my intentions here are something that are not; I was hoping I could count on you for my claim to the throne,” Daenerys said.

Ah, so that’s what it was. What it always came down to.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” she responded. If she was going to support Daenerys’ claim, then she was going to try to angle for an independent North.

“If Jon can recognise the kind of leader I will be and bent the knee, why can’t you respect that? I am not my father, I can assure you that,” the white-haired woman said.

“With all due respect your grace, you don’t know what the North has been through. We’ve been betrayed by southerners and by our own, suffered immensely at the hands of the Bolton’s and Lannister’s and Frey’s. Our men, massacred at a wedding, killed on a battlefield, tortured for all to see. Everything has always come back to hurt the North; this is why we cannot take it any longer,” Sansa explained to her.

“Then rally behind me and I will give you vengeance.”

“We already took our vengeance – I ended house Bolton, Arya destroyed house Frey, and you and Jon will help destroy house Lannister. We haven’t been able to rely on anyone but ourselves; I doubt that will change soon.”

“You say you can only rely on yourselves, but where do you import your grain from?” Daenerys challenged. “Where would you go when an army was bigger than you, stronger than you, appeared at your border? When the winters are too harsh and you need help recovering?”

 _Being independent would make us self-sufficient,_ Sansa wanted to say but decided against it in the end; they would get nowhere talking in circles. Sansa sighed: “I do not understand why my support is so important to you - I’m just the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Don’t play coy, Lady Sansa. We both know you’re far more than that. You know that the North trusts you over Jon at this point - you didn’t bend the knee and bring over a foreign queen.” She sounded bitter over her treatment but failed to understand the North’s reasons for it. Surely, someone who claims to be the great breaker of chains would realise why they would want to break theirs?

“But I do admit, I do have a particular interest in your family,” she went on. “Not only out of my own curiosity - the family that was split apart by the world but found each other regardless - but also for a personal reason.

She rolled up the sleeve of her dress and turned over her arm. There, sitting perfectly on her wrist, lay her soulmate mark.

A direwolf.

“Your soulmate’s a Stark?” Sansa was amazed; Daenerys nodded in response. Sansa thought back to all those years ago, the day where Robb and Jon had shown her their soulmarks, and Robb had a three-headed dragon on his wrist. “Your soulmate was a Stark.”

Daenerys nodded. “I saw what happened to him in a vision back in Essos. But I do feel a certain kinship towards his family; perhaps we could’ve been sisters in another lifetime.” She held her hand out on the table. “My Lady, I think you and I have similar stories too; we’ve both been betrayed, sold to powerful we didn’t know. And yet we’re both still sitting here and they are not. We’ve both had to rule and if I do say so, I think we’ve done a damn fine job for it.” That got a little smile out of Sansa. “I don’t expect you to trust me fully – I don’t blame you for not doing so – but I do ask you give me a chance to prove myself. Let me show you the ruler I want to be. The one I will be.”

Sansa had met many people vying for the throne, each with their own different desires on the land. And yet, Daenerys seemed different to them. Willing to listen. To compromise. That alone put her leagues above most people who wanted it.

She placed her hands over Daenerys’ on the table. “I will – if you promise to hear us out on independence. Let me show you why we want independence, the steps and sacrifices we’re willing to make for it.”

Daenerys turned her hand over so that the palm of her hand was resting in the palm on Sansa’s hand. They may not have gotten exactly what they wanted, but it was a start.

**\--------------------**

Sansa had been through so many battles in her lifetime, so many times where she thought that this was the end, that she was going to die. But there always remained a small amount of hope that things might be better, that they would find some way out of their situation and live to fight another day.

And yet, that optimism was not present for this battle against the dead.

Countless meetings had occurred, discussing battle strategies and tactics, contingency plans, formations and all other fighting chatter. And Sansa could not pitch in to any of it. She had to trust that everyone knew what they were doing.

The horns had only sounded a few hours ago, telling them the dead would soon be upon them. Most people had taken to spending their last remaining hours with their loved ones. Jeyne had tried to get some sleep with Podrick; Arya had been convinced to go and find Gendry; Bran was preparing with Meera; Rickon was going over some last-minute moves with Lyanna; Jon with spending time with the wildling woman he had taken a fancy to.

And Sansa remained with Margaery and Theon, eating soup in the courtyard, surrounded by soldiers from all different alliances.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Winterfell itself would become a battleground. I used to think we were too far away from anything to be of any importance,” Sansa said into the group.

“It’s been a battlefield before. Hopefully, it is the last time it will be,” Theon said, no doubt referring to his own siege of the castle and the battle of the bastards.

“I used to think the same of Highgarden,” Margaery added. “How quickly things change.”

“You’re right. One moment you’re with a family that loved you, the next you’re sieging down the castle you spent your adolescences in and holding the very people you called brother hostage.”

“Theon,” Sansa sighed, “that’s in the past. Yes, it was wrong and it was horrible. But you’ve tried to redeem yourself since then.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I did it, Sansa. I sieged down the home of my best friend while he was out there fighting real battles, fighting for a worthy cause.” Theon ran a hand through his curls. “I should’ve died with him, you know? At that wedding?”

“But you didn’t,” Sansa challenged. “You were here. And you saved me from him. You was prepared to die to let me get away. You came back to fight again, this time for Winterfell instead of against it. I’d say Robb’s forgiven you.”

He sighed. “I suppose we’ll know soon enough.”

“What do you mean?” Margaery asked.

“I have no misconceptions about my future, Lady Margaery. I know that I will probably not live to see beyond this night. My last chance to make things right.”

“You knew you might die and yet you still came back to Winterfell anyway. Still volunteered to defend Bran. You’re a good man Theon, even if you don’t believe it.” Sansa knew that it wasn’t as black or white as she was making it out to be, but they didn’t have the luxury of time to dive into all of Theon’s rights and wrongdoings.

He kept quiet, allowing Sansa to hope that she got through to him rather than him choosing to wallow in his own self-pity.

“I didn’t come here to die,” he said after a silence. “I came to fight. Because it’s right. To make up for actions against Bran and Rickon. And if I die, then I shall die as Theon Greyjoy. Not as Reek or someone I’m not.” For someone who was certain his time on this world would soon expire, he was eerily peaceful towards it. “I will die so others can live.”

“You should live too,” Sansa argued. “Live to see the world you helped defend.”

Theon opened his mouth to reply but never had the chance to speak; horns blared out across Winterfell. An eery silence fell across the courtyard as everyone counted the blasts of the instrument.

_One blast for rangers returning._

_Two blasts for wildlings._

_Three blasts for White Walkers._

The courtyard burst into activity, soldiers running to their positions, lovers and friends saying their goodbyes, troops steeling themselves for the battle ahead.

“I suppose this is goodbye then,” Theon said, looking at Sansa. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry for all the hardships I caused you.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around him for what was probably the final time. “I forgive you. If you need to be forgiven, then I forgive you.”

She pulled back and felt Margaery appear beside her and take her hand, gently squeezing, her warmth radiating through her gloves.

“I wish you luck, Lord Greyjoy. I hope to see you alive and well after this,” Margaery said to him.

“Thank you, my lady. Both of you…” he sighed. “Both of you should live well. Be happy. Not have to worry about any war or fighting.”

“I am happy,” Sansa responded. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” It seemed preposterous that she was happy with all that surrounded them – and yet she was. All due to the woman who stood beside her.

Some Ironborn approached Theon and punched his shoulder; it was time for them to go.

“Fight well, Theon Stark,” she said to him.

Theon tried to appear stoic but was betrayed by his eyes; tears gently fell down his cheeks. He nodded to Sansa and turned to walk away towards his fate.

But something still played on Sansa’s mind. Something so stupid, so irrelevant and yet for some reason, was still important to her. She called out for Theon.

“Your soulmate – who is it?” Perhaps it was all the talk of her and Margaery that had made her curious about Theon’s. She didn’t want him to go without knowing who his was.

He rolled up his sleeve and rotated his arm so Sansa could see his wrist.

A direwolf.

“Robb,” he said. “It was always Robb.”

**\--------------------**

The war against the dead ended as quickly as it came. Jon, Arya, Meera and Theon fought to the end to protect Bran, with Jon himself finally managing to kill the Night King. Theon turned out to be correct and didn’t make it through the night; she could only hope that wherever he ended up, he found peace.

She was surprised – in the best possible way – that her family had managed to make it through relatively unscathed. Jon had survived, with many cuts and bruises, and so had the wildling princess Val that he kept dancing around his feelings with. Arya had looked battered after it all; with the way she jumped into Gendry’s arms after the battle, she knew that she’d recover eventually. Bran seemed to have emotion return to him as he hugged Meera and smiled at his siblings. Rickon was happy to find that Lyanna had survived the battle, albeit with many injuries, and Sansa was surprised that she let him show her affection.

Jeyne had ran straight into Podrick’s arms when she saw him, hugging him tightly. Jaime and Brienne seemed far closer than they did before the battle started, although if what she had heard was true, it was now knight Brienne. Daenerys had made it through alive and had her arms wrapped around Missandei, who Sansa had enjoyed spending time with before this night, learning of Daenerys past and escapades in Essos.

And of course, by her side as always, Margaery was there, clinging onto her hand tightly. Sansa moved an arm around her back and pulled her into her shoulder, feeling her nestle beneath of neck.

“We made it,” Margaery said, surprised that they managed to overcome such terrible odds.

“Yes,” Sansa said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Yes, we did.”

**\--------------------**

The fight against Cersei was surprisingly less bloodless than the war against the dead. After defeating the dead, Daenerys – along with an independent North – had marched to King’s Landing, gathering and rallying houses in their name along the way.

They had surrounded the capital, preventing the need for a large battle, letting the people rise up against Cersei and allowing them to take the city. Cersei was put on trial for her crimes – a front really, since everyone knew she would be found guilty – and executed by one of Daenerys dragons. It wasn’t a pretty sight, Cersei spewing mad phrases until her last breath, but it allowed her and Margaery to get some vengeance for all she had done to their families. Not that it would bring any of them back.

Daenerys had been crowned Queen of the Six Kingdoms, and Jon King of the North again. But he refused to accept the post.

“I am honoured that you consider me worthy enough to be your king again,” he said. “But I’m afraid I must refuse it. The honour belongs to my sister. If anyone deserves it, then she does.”

“What are you doing?” she urged as he put the crown upon her head.

“Giving you my crown. I don’t what it anymore, Sansa. I’m tired of all the war and fighting and politics. I want to live free, away from all that. And I can think of no-one more worthy to take my place,” he smiled at her.

He drew his sword and kneeled to her. “Queen of the North!”

_Queen in the North!_

_Queen in the North!_

_Queen in the North!_

**\--------------------**

After everything they had been through, all they had fought for and fought against, there was only one constant. She had lost and retaken Winterfell, found and lost and found Margaery again, been ripped apart from her family only to reunite with them; only one constant had remained.

She loved Margaery.

A feeling she was unable to identify when they first met, but knew she liked. Knew she wanted to spend as much time with her as she possibly could. That feeling of completeness, as if she had found the literal other half of herself. That all-encompassing love that she dreamed of when she was a child she found in Margaery.

And there was only one thing she wanted to do.

Their wedding was a small affair – with their close friends and family – but it didn’t matter to Sansa nor Margaery; they had each other. Getting married wasn’t going to change that.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Jon asked.

“Sansa, of the house Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who claims her?” Arya spoke.

“Margaery, of house Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. Who gives her?”

“Daenerys, of house Targaryen, Queen of the Six Kingdoms.”

“Sansa, do you take this woman?” Jon asked her.

“I take this woman.” Sansa smile was so wide she was practically beaming. “I take this woman with all my heart.” She pulled Margaery into her and kissed her fervently; Margaery wrapped her arms around her neck and returned the kiss, deepening it further.

Sansa picked Margaery up into her arms and carried her through the crowd to their chambers, Margaery laughing all the way and kissing her neck, face and any other available patch of skin she could find.

The moment they got into their chambers, they rid themselves of their clothing and stumbled into bed, their lips never parting for long. They made love several times, pouring every ounce of love and affection they had into the other person.

When they lay there, wrapped around each other, Margaery’s head resting on Sansa’s shoulder, Margaery turned to her and uttered a simple phrase. “I love you.” Not the first time Sansa had heard it, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but it was quite possibly her favourite.

“I love you too,” she whispered as she dived back in to press kisses against Margaery’s lips.

In spite of all that had happened to them, they had found each other, found happiness with each other, and overcome every odd that was stacked against them. Now and forever, they would always have each other.

Now and forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: Sansa/Daenerys!
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading! I hoped you enjoyed it!


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